


Families not of Blood

by Jandeera



Series: Blood of the Covenant [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brothers, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:19:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jandeera/pseuds/Jandeera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being left at the Garrison, d'Artagnan starts to test the boundaries.</p><p>For the kinkmeme prompt: So, D'artagnan is rather mouthy and insubordinate in some ways, not to mention young and inexperienced. D'artagnan gets more and more insubordinate to the Musketeers and Treville, etc, and no one calls him on it so he gets cocky. One day, he disobeys in some spectacular way, causes a lot of trouble, and Athos finally realizes he needs to take the boy in hand. Cue Athos giving D'artagnan a firm spanking/other punishment, setting out some rules, and generally taking the lad under his wing for some much needed discipline and guidance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Left Behind

Paris in winter, despite the greater amounts of snow could never match the beauty of the small farming community that the newest Musketeer recruit came from. The dark clouds sailing overhead were depressing, rather than uplifting. Rain in Gascony at this time of year made people hopeful for a good harvest. In Paris, it simply got everyone, and everything, muddy, thus leaving said recruit, stuck indoors cleaning his weaponry for the forth time that week, and it was only Tuesday.

The dismal clouds and the never ending work were only adding to the depressive mood that had every person in the Musketeer garrison avoiding the Gascon born lad. It had been merely three weeks since the death of his father, three weeks in which the young man tried to ignore the fact that he was now more or less alone in the world. There was a second cousin on his mother's side of the family that he had met occasionally. It was to him that he had written and asked for his Father's farm to be taken care of.

Constance had thrown him out of the house, claiming that she was going to spend the day cleaning, and that he would only get underfoot. d'Artagnan offered to help, only to be scoffed at and asked what he knew of cleaning when it didn't involve weapons, blood, or horses. He left then, not even trying to explain that it had only been himself and his father since he was four years old, when his mother had died. His father had taught him to clean the house, as well as work the fields out of necessity. 

When arriving at the garrison, he found that his three friends, or at least that is what he supposed they were, he had never had time to form more than passing acquaintances with anyone, the farm took all of their time, had been sent away on a mission for the King. He was to stay behind, Treville had organised for different musketeers to train him while the others were away. 

The training session was brutal, d'Artagnan sure that the other man was doing the best he could to disgrace him in front of strangers. After he ended up in the mud for the the eighth time, the other man, ridiculously clean considering the conditions, called a stop to the training session, telling him to come see him again when d'Artagnan had learnt how to stand up. He rolled his eyes, and muttering implication against the man's mother under his breath, stormed off to the armoury.

*****

The next week continued in a similar vein. d'Artagnan's feeling of isolation were only increasing with every remark made by the Musketeers when he made a mistake in training. The only saving grace was that none of them spoke a word of his native language, as that was his language of choice for the curses that he aimed at the others, although he did make an effort to make sure he was out of earshot first, as his tone of voice would at least have told those around him the general meaning of his language.

It was at the end of his week that he made the first mistake. After a particularly gruelling training session, his sparing partner sneered at him, saying that whoever taught him how to fight must have been almost useless with a sword, because his student was hopeless. d'Artagnan's already frayed nerves snapped, responding with a rather foul statement about the man's ancestry. Braced for a fight, d'Artagnan was rather surprised when he was simply sent to go clean his gear, and himself.

The next day was also an exact copy, except this time, d'Artagnan started a small rebellion against his unfair treatment. A small slip in his speech here, a mild hesitation before carrying out an order there, and yet still no one pulled him up on his behaviour. 

He spent the next few days expanding on this slowly, also starting to disobey minor orders from senior officers, pretending he hadn't heard, or hadn't heard correctly. By the end of the second week, d'Artagnan was fairly pleased with himself, and Treville had heard that something wasn't quite right with his regiment.


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos returns.

Rumors have a way of travelling in small communities, and while most have little truth to them, an astute listener can generally work out which rumors were merely that, and which of them had some truth to them. Treville, Captain of the King's Musketeers, was one such person. Not normally one to bother with the petty truths, those which had no effect on the running, and moral, of the garrison, he had heard whispers lately about the behaviour of their newest recruit. Nothing major, it sound simply like a young lad trying to find his place, and most of the Musketeers that Treville had spoken to thought that he would settle down soon enough.

Something about the way the lad was acting was still troubling him, despite the reassurances. Hot headed, and quick tempered though the lad might be, his first weeks at the garrison had shown him to be both eager and quick to learn, his enthusiasm known to get a smile from whomever was teaching him, including the normally dour Athos. 

Athos, whom he could almost count on one hand the number of time he had genuinely smiled in the four and a half years since he had joined the regiment. Athos whom had for the first time Treville could remember, had left has wine unfinished, one night when the young man had needed him. Athos who knew what it was to lose family by the hand of another. Athos, who was standing in his office, having returned late last night, having almost knocked the door off it's hinges in his haste to find out what Treville knew of the rumours about young d'Artagnan.

*****

Standing in the shadows, along with Aramis, Porthos and Treville after a deeply concerning conversation with the latter, Athos was watching d'Artagnan spar with one of the other senior Musketeers. As d'Artagnan landed on the ground for the forth time, a stream of angry sounding gibberish spewed from his mouth. Treville cringed however, making the other three turn to face him.  
"I am not translating that. Suffice it to say, if I thought it wouldn't make the situation worse, I'd be be washing his mouth out for saying that, particularly to a superior officer."  
Athos quirked one side of his mouth up humourlessly.  
"I'll deal with it, Sir."  
Treville clapped Athos on the shoulder and strode out from the shadows, startling a few of the men training, and causing d'Artagnan to pale slightly. Ignoring all there, he simply walked up the stairs to his office.

d'Artagnan climbed back to his feet, at the same time as Athos stepped from his place within the shadows. Arms crossed over his chest, head held proudly, one eyebrow raised in a rather condescending fashion, he stood still, looking d'Aragnan in the eye, making his disapproval of his behaviour clear. The lad's head turned slightly, breaking eye contact, and he started to fidget minutely. Athos strode past him, a quiet, "With me," pitched for d'Artagnan ears only. For the first time since his three companions had left on their mission, d'Artagnan did as he was told without the slightest hint or thought of rebellion.


	3. A Short Lived Rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the wait, my muse dissappeared for a while there, and has only in the past few weeks shown any signs of returning. Hopefully I'll be able to finish this before it disappears again.
> 
> So here is the next instalment. Let me know what you think.

The short walk from the garrison to Athos' private rooms was made in silence. Athos, trying to ascertain why his recruit was behaving in this fashion, and d'Artagnan, while initially regretful that his behaviour had caught up with him, was now brooding, attempting to create a believable excuse for his behaviour. Unable to do so, his temper once again began to rise, and as Athos ushered him upstairs where their conversation was less likely to be overheard, finally exploded.

Storming into the room that Athos gestured to, the younger man crossed over to the chair furthest from the door, and threw himself down into it. He slouched down as far as he could without falling off, crossed his arms, and glared at the man who had made him come here.

Athos, as usual, didn't react. He calmly pulled off his outer layers of clothing, after unbuckling the leather straps that kept the tools of his trade close at hand and put them on a wooden table to the left of the door, the scratches in the top making it apparent that this was were they usually were placed when in this room.

Taking his time Athos pulled another chair over from the fireplace, and placed it directly in front of the chair currently occupied by the young man he was slowly beginning to refer to as his baby brother (if only in the privacy of his own mind). Sitting down, with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, he steepled his hands together, resting his joined index fingers against his lips. This accomplished, he finally looked at his brother. It took all of Athos' not inconsiderable strength of will to stop himself from smiling at the sight in front of him. With the pout on his face, that Athos was assuming he thought; firstly, to be a glare, and secondly, to be threatening, his brother looked all of about twelve years old. 

"Explain."

One word, spoken in Athos' low, cultured tone resonated between them. 

The resulting snort from the other, merely caused one eyebrow to be raised.

"Please explain your behaviour from this past week."

The clarification, while hardly needed, ensured there could be no misunderstandings in what Athos wanted from d'Artagnan.

"They were picking on me!"

The brief response, while technically meeting Athos' request, was hardly fitting for a recruit from the ranks of the King's Musketeers. Indeed, it was far more fitting a responses for pre-teen trying to explain a fist fight to his parents, or more fittingly in this case, Athos thought, an elder brother. 

"And?"

Athos' response evoked a deeper scowl, but no further information was forthcoming.

"Should I go talk with Bélanger, ask him what provoked a response from you that had the Captain wishing for a bar a soap?"

For the first time, Athos' words garnered a reaction. d'Artagnan sat up, and uncrossed his arms. His face palming slightly, he asked, "the Captain understands Gascon?"

Athos nodded, "He came from Gascony originally. His brother still lives there."

With the realisation that he had been understood, and by no less a personage than the Captain, reality came crashing down on the recently orphaned young man.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

Athos nodded, there really was no question about it.

The fight that had previously kept the young man going abruptly drained out of him.

"My father would be so ashamed. He taught me better than this."

The sudden guilt that showed across d'Artagnan's face told Athos that this would not be a quick fix, that this newest brother was more like Aramis than Porthos, that a few stern words would not be enough for the Gascon to forgive himself and move on. Rather, like Aramis, a more hands on approach to removing guilt would be needed. And, unlike Aramis, at least for now, Captain Treville would not be a suitable backup, the grief from the loss his Father still too fresh to allow another father figure into the picture just yet. 

With his mind made up, Athos stood up, beckoning the younger to follow, and walked over to the second door, opened it, and walked inside, taking a seat upon his bed, and as d'Artagnan followed, grabbed his left hand and pulled him over until he stood next to his right thigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err... Sorry about leaving it there. With a bit of luck I hope to have the next part up shortly. I promise I won't leave d'Artagnan hanging for too long.


	4. Getting to the Bottom of Things

It wasn't that d'Artagnan didn't know what to expect. Rather it was the mortifying shame that the lessons that his Father had deemed to no longer be needed, that he was adult enough to not require, were about to resume. It felt, at least in his own mind, that he had failed his father, and all that his father had taught him. While knowing that this was a common enough type of punishment for those within the armed forces, as Alexandre d'Artagnan had been a soldier himself, and had informed his son of the number of times to he had fallen foul of the man many in his regiment had called Captain-Father, he had assumed that he would not be required to submit to it, an idea reinforced by the unofficial nature of his attachment to the Musketeers.

Staring down at the lap of the one man in particular whom he least wished to anger, d'Artagnan's thoughts started to rearrange themselves. While greatly wishing that he could avoid the upcoming discipline, the reality of the situation came crashing down upon him. Should the Captain decide that he was not Musketeer material (and he would be well within his right after what had come out of the younger Gascon's mouth earlier) he had nowhere else to go. Even the idea of returning to Gascony sent barbs of pain shooting through his chest. To return to the farm that he and his father had shared was impossible. He would forever be turning to look over his shoulder, expecting his father to be there, always with quip or a joke, or just the right words to make the world make sense again. He had no other options. It was either submit to this, or face dismissal.

With that thought running through his head, he readily surrendered when Athos directed him to remove his leather outer clothing, and then to lie across his lap. In silence Athos' hand began to fall. The first few slaps proved easy enough to bear and d'Artagnan determined that he would accept his punishment in silence,that he would show his mentor that he was capable of handling himself in an adult manner. 

Slowly, however, the slaps began to increase in speed and force, and eventually d'Artagnan felt that he simply had to move, had to try to avoid the next slap, for to do otherwise would destroy his resolution to take the spanking (oh, how he detested that word) in silence. With d'Artagnan starting to move around, Athos felt that this was the most appropriate time to get to the bottom of his brother's behaviour. 

“Why am I spanking you?”

Athos's question, after the silence that had had only been broken by the sound of the elder Musketeer's had meeting the cloth of the younger's underclothes, shocked d'Artagnan to the core. It was the same question that his father always asked at this point and delivered in very much the same manner. It was this rememberence that caused d'Artagnan to unexpectedly break down. The weeks of refusing to let himself grieve bubbled up and over and before he could stop himself, d'Artagnan found himself bawling into Athos' bed covers. Despite his best efforts, d'Artagnan was unable to answer, and understanding this, Athos stopped spanking him and turned him the right way up, cradling the young lad in his arms.

It was a long while later, before Athos received an answer to his question. The Gascon, very tired after the outpouring of grief, mumbled into Athos' chest.

“Was naughty.”

Athos, while rather amused by the childishness of the answer, needed to make sure that d'Artagnan understood exactly why he had been in trouble.

“And did you do that was naughty?” 

“Ignored orders, and spoke back, and swore at senior officers.”

“And why aren't you allowed to do this?”

“Because it could cause problems in the field if they don't trust me to do the right thing, when I'm told to, without arguing.”

“Good lad, and what happens after the spanking is over?”

At this d'Artagnan opened his very red, sore eyes, and blinked up at Athos, seemingly confused. Athos waitied a minuted before prompting him.

“What do you need to do when we go back to the garrison tomorrow?”

Suddenly understanding what Athos was after, d'Artagnan blushed, but answered with the words he spoken on a number of occasions when his father had asked similar questions.

“I have to apologise to everyone for being a brat.”

Athos grinned to himself, it was a fairly apt description of the way the boy had been behaving.

“Then we will speak no more of this, except for me to say that once all apologies have been tendered you will be forgiven by everyone, and your ledger will be wiped clean.”

A nod and a softly grumbled noise of agreement was the only answer he received. Fading quickly now that he had allowed himself to grieve, it was only moments before Athos heard the soft whistling of d'Artagnan's breathing, signifying that he had fallen asleep. Gently and carefully manouvering him, Athos placed him stomach down on the bed, pulling the covers over him, before settling in to watch over the youngest of his brothers while he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again. I had hoped that d'Artagnan would be left hanging for as long as he was, but we got there in the end. Unfortunately RL is hard to work around some days, so I will apologise in advance for how long it is likely to be before I post the next chapter.


End file.
